


Educating the Young Sequel

by orphan_account



Series: Educating the Young [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, First Time, M/M, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-04
Updated: 2011-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-21 07:59:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Underage!Arthur (age 17) and OlderNeighbour!Eames have been together for a month, and Arthur is tired of waiting for his first time anal experience. Written in as a follow-up to this original prompt, but strayed beyond the original parameters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Educating the Young Sequel

“Eames, I’m not going to break, you don’t have to act like such a prude about this,” Arthur stands in the kitchen with his glass of orange juice, sounding irritated but reasonable as always; he doesn’t seem to get too worked up about much. But he’s impatient and Eames knows that after the first time they’d found their way to Eames’s bed, Arthur had been expecting some actual fucking to happen soon afterwards. But Eames was having none of it and had managed to sidestep the issue for the last month. He remembered his first time bottoming, and although his partner had been quite patient, when it came down to the actual penetration, it had hurt. He can’t imagine ever causing any pain to Arthur, no matter how much he may think he wants it. Arthur’s right, he wouldn’t break, and would probably find it pleasant after a bit, but Eames wanted to take care. He wanted to wait until Arthur was absolutely sure, and in the meantime there were other, incredibly pleasant, activities to explore.

“Of course you wouldn’t, darling. And a prude, really? Was that my tongue in your ass in the shower yesterday? I believe it was. Are you trying to tell me the blowjobs aren’t doing it for you? The handjobs? The frottage? Because I was there, I’m pretty certain you were enjoying yourself.”

“That’s not it and you know it. You may be older but you can’t twist things around and be charming and expect me to get confused and give up. What are you waiting for? I know you want to. I want you to. I know you’re worried about the age difference thing, but I’m not wrong about us having a real connection, right? I talk more to you about books and philosophy, and just everything than anyone I’ve ever met. I’m not naive, I get that some people might think this isn’t cool, but I make my own decisions. So how is this complicated?” This is how Arthur is. He’s focused and determined and smart enough to argue anything he believes in.

“I think you may be underestimating how much people might not be cool with what we’re doing here, Arthur. There’s no denying your intelligence and self-confidence, but the fact is I _am_ older. You’re seventeen. I remember seventeen; I didn’t have any brakes or safeties then either. If one of us is going to keep a level head here, it will be me.”

Arthur, always so well-spoken, looks lost for words for a moment, like he’s gearing up his thoughts and doesn’t know how to begin.

“Eames, I just. This thing. Being gay, is all new to me, although I think I’ve kind of always known anyway. And I want to explore it with you because I know you won’t hurt me. And because I like the time we spend together when we’re not having sex. And because you’re hot, all right? So I could do what other people do, and go find some random person my age to fuck me, and they’re likely to fuck it up because they don’t know much more than I do, and maybe it’d be memorable and sweet, but would more likely be fumbling and awkward and how can you relax when it’s like that? And then it would fucking hurt. Or I could do it with you, where I know there’s no chance of it being awkward and I know you’ll do your best to make it enjoyable for me.”

Eames thinks there’s probably an argument he should make in response. He’s damned if he knows what it is, though, because Arthur isn’t wrong about any of it. And in any case, he had only been putting this whole thing off for reasons he hadn’t entirely clarified for himself; he hadn’t actually made up his mind not to do it entirely.

“Okay, Arthur. Okay,” he says, rubbing his upper lip. “Just. Hold off for a few days, yeah? We’re not doing this on a Tuesday night when you have to go home in less than an hour. Let’s just watch a bit of telly and calm down.” He rubs his hand down his face, and when he looks up at Arthur again, he sees a fond smile and none of the smugness he expected. And it occurs to him that there isn’t really anything Arthur could ask for that Eames wouldn’t try to give him, least of all this thing that he wants desperately to do anyway. He steps closer and catches Arthur around the waist, pulling him in into his arms. Arthur’s only an inch or so shorter, but he has a tendency to slouch down into Eames’s arms, and Eames places a tender kiss on his forehead. He feels Arthur’s face crinkle in a broad smile.

“Plus, maybe you’ll talk me through this one, too, right? I never told you, but that was the best thing about that first time. Your voice just makes me so hard, it’s a wonder I don’t have a chubby every second I’m here.” Eames raises his eyebrows and chuckles.

“Which voice? You mean this one, pet?” he drops his timbre to a husky purr. “You like it when I tell you what to do? You like it when I tell you how hard you make me?” And fuck, but Eames always has the best intentions of keeping things slow, but Arthur says things and Eames finds himself responding in filthy ways and he just can’t fucking help it.

In response Arthur just attacks him, kissing him hard and pushing him up against the fridge, trying to get his hands under Eames’s shirt. And Eames guesses that the telly isn’t going on tonight and calming down is the last thing on anyone’s mind.

\---

Eames actually gets nervous over the next few days. He’s agog at himself when Arthur always seems so calm and poised and so utterly straightforward all the time. And it’s not that he’s nervous about the sex, because, well. Jesus. He’s done this once or twice before and what could he possibly _not_ look forward to about sex with Arthur? No, he has to be honest with himself. He’s nervous about making this right for Arthur. Although he seems to be accepting the fact that he’s gay with remarkable aplomb - he’s probably been mentally gearing up for it for years - this is a step that’s somehow beyond playing. It’s more than messing around. Arthur’s not a virgin with girls, he knows. But he’s a virgin like this, and Eames isn’t one to take that lightly.

Come Friday Eames busies himself making some cottage pie for dinner, just so he won’t be sitting around waiting for Arthur to show up. At least this way he can feel completely in control of something, at least for a little while. For some reason Arthur always feels like a force of nature, a storm that surrounds him and is exciting and terrifying at once; Arthur makes him forget everything outside of the two of them. He doesn’t even know what he’s saying half the time, Arthur just brings out this smart, devilish, flirty version of himself. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it.  
Arthur lets himself in and finds Eames in the kitchen. He comes up behind him, wrapping his long, lanky arms around his waist and propping his chin on his shoulder.

“My mom’s gone away with her boyfriend this weekend. She’s been thinking about it for a while, and I may have subtly given her a few nudges this week. She’s not going to be home until Sunday afternoon. I’ve told her I’ll hang out with Yusuf and promised no parties. Which is ridiculous; I don’t know how many friends she thinks I have. Anyway, Yusuf is prepared to deflect her questions if she calls, and his parents are out of town right now so Ariadne’s obviously staying over,” he says.

“Why does that not surprise me at all? I don’t know why I ever expect you to be anything less than completely organized, planning for every eventuality. You’re a force to be reckoned with, darling, and frankly I find you a little terrifying.”

Arthur’s laugh is bright and happy, and Eames doesn’t know what the hell he even says or does to bring it out of him, but he’ll keep doing it for as long as possible. He turns around and places his hands on Arthur’s hips, strong and possessive and kisses him, closed mouthed and soft. He can feel Arthur beginning to open up so he pulls back.  
“Dinner first, love. I went to all this effort.”

\---

Eames never knows who initiates these kisses, they just sort of happen. He feels like a teen making out on the sofa. Arthur’s tongue in his mouth, all wet heat and hunger makes his head spin every time. What is it about Arthur that makes him want to consume him, to lick him everywhere and bite him? Eames never figured himself for being so orally fixated and ferociously affectionate, but Arthur is all kinds of firsts for Eames, which is odd but there it is. Arthur makes him want to eat him up, to mark him and drain him and leave him an exhausted and sweaty mess and pet him until he’s all right again. He wants him completely and doesn’t want to share. He’s a terrible human being, he’s sure.

“Darling, let’s take this elsewhere. I want room to enjoy you. I want to strip you and lay you out and adore every inch of you.”

Arthur kisses him again, licking in deep. Against his lips he murmurs, “Eames, fuck. I love it when you talk. And I love your hands, the way you lay them on me. Just. Keep touching me,” Arthur says, sounding strained.

Eames stands them up and ushers Arthur to the bedroom, the walk made slow because he can’t let Arthur move too far ahead, keeps him close and kisses his shoulder and neck, running his hands up under the front of Arthur’s shirt. Arthur’s struggling to both walk and to push himself back against Eames.

When they get to the bedroom Eames begins to remove Arthur’s clothes and he just stands there and lets him. Eames still can’t believe that he can do this, that he’s allowed to touch, to see any bit of flesh he wants. Arthur’s so beautiful and confident, all lean lithe muscle, and he gives it willingly. Of all the things they do together, it’s that that makes Eames’s head swim. He kisses what he reveals, biting him and soothing his skin with his tongue. He sucks a deep purple bruise into the skin at his ribs, digs in his teeth at the sharp jut of his hip bone. He drags Arthur’s jeans down with his boxers, eager to see the full expanse of flesh, miles and miles of Arthur. On his knees now, pulling his socks off, Eames sits back on his heels and just looks. Arthur breathes, staring at Eames’s face and waits, his patience antithetical to his youth.

Eames reaches out and runs his hands up his thighs, gently caresses Arthur’s testicles, leans in and sucks his cock down all in one go, caressing the hot smooth skin with his tongue.

Arthur drops his head forwards and groans. “E-eames. I thought we were going to fuck. I won’t. _God_ , that’s good. I won’t last long if you do this.”

Eames pulls off just long enough to say, “Don’t worry, love. I have plans for you,” he punctuates his sentences with soft kisses and licks down his shaft. “First, I’m going to have you come in my mouth, and then you’ll be ripe for me to take my time with you.” Then he returns to sucking, making it as wet and sloppy and noisy as he knows how, as much for Arthur’s benefit as for his own voracious need to consume Arthur’s glorious cock. It doesn’t take long before Arthur is thrusting into his mouth, and he takes it, grips his hands into Arthur’s firm arse, opens his throat and swallows every inch Arthur gives him. After short moments he can feel Arthur’s impending orgasm, a rumbled tensing deep inside him. So he latches on, eager to taste and consume a piece of him. When it comes, it’s thicker than he’s expecting but he swallows it down, relishing the hot pulsing splashes in his mouth.

He stands then, hungry to see Arthur’s face, blissed out and climax-drunk, rumpled and gorgeous. He kisses him and eases him gently onto the bed, laying him out as promised. He strips himself first before kneeling up beside Arthur’s chest, his erection jutting out obscenely. Even after a month, Arthur is still captivated by his uncut foreskin. He’s spent ages just stroking it, pulling it further and further back, latching on with his mouth and using his hand to slip it back and forth, into and out of his lips, pulling off periodically to marvel at the raw purple head unsheathed. Normally Eames is happy to indulge him, but not today. He lets Arthur have a stroke or two, leans forward to feed it into his mouth for a few quick licks and sucks, but he has other matters to attend to, though it’s not without a bit of regret that he pulls away. He’d love to fuck Arthur’s mouth with him reclining like this. He mentally files it away for future exploration.

He moves back down and straddles Arthur’s thighs, reverently stroking all the skin that’s available to him.

“Oh Arthur, you’re gorgeous, love. I want my marks on you, I want you to go about your day knowing I’ve claimed you.”

“Eames,” Arthur says, bleary but with a hint of exasperation. “I never should have told you how much I love it when you talk. You’ve made me wait a month now, stop pissing around,” and Eames thinks Arthur is far too articulate. That has to change.

Eames smirks, climbs off and and says, “On your front, there’s a good boy,” giving him a cheerful pat on the hip. He accepts Arthur’s glare with equanimity, though Arthur rolls over easily enough. He then settles himself back down, nudging Arthur’s legs apart and kneeling between them, just taking a moment to enjoy the scenery: perfectly taut, firm cheeks, leanly muscled back, impossibly narrow hips and waist widening lightly up to athletic shoulders. His dark curls are adorably mussy around the nape of his neck, and he’s got his cheek resting on both his hands, eyes closed and waiting.

Fortunately Eames has spent many evenings over the past month getting Arthur used to his tongue, so there’s no easing into this part. He just leans forward, pressed his palms into the flesh of his cheeks and parts them just enough to expose his perfect little puckered hole. Eames does as he always does, begins by massaging around the outside with his tongue first, laving his skin, warming him up. He kisses, feeling the hot flesh beneath his lips and starts to lick across the hole, alternately using broad firm strokes and soft fluttering passes, letting it get gradually wetter. He doesn’t press yet just takes his time licking and softly sucking until Arthur is squirming to get closer and adjusting for his re-awakened hard-on, all but begging for more, harder. Arthur tried asking for that the first few times, but he has since realized that there’s no rushing Eames. If Eames is honest, it’s as much because he loves the act itself as it is because of the desperate little noises Arthur makes, the decreased control he has over his movements the longer Eames does this.

When Arthur’s thoroughly warm and sensitized, Eames reaches beneath the bed and pulls out the lube. Arthur is looking over his shoulder at him, eyes sharp and expectant.

“Don’t expect anything drastic yet, pet. I haven’t even started with you. Close your eyes and breathe.” He dribbles slick liquid generously onto his fingers as he speaks, then rubs it a bit with his thumb to warm it. He reaches down and gently begins to pet Arthur’s hole with one finger, firm but gentle.

“Just enjoy this part, I know you’re sensitive now. Does this feel good?” He tightens his circular movements down to a small pulse then goes back to tiny strokes right over the ring of muscle. but he still doesn’t press, just strokes and strokes. Arthur is humming an agreement and the muscle flexes momentarily before relaxing further. Eames adds a second finger to the massage and settles himself back to watch his own work. The lube has made Arthur’s gorgeous little hole glisten, his downy soft almost-invisible hairs sodden and laying in the circles Eames is making with his fingers. He takes his time rubbing and uses his other hand to put some pressure on Arthur’s cheek, holding the flesh open with this thumb. He could admire this view for years, but Arthur is ready, more than ready for the next stage Eames has in mind.

“Turn over, love.”

Arthur does, and Eames adds more lube to his fingers before stretching himself alongside Arthur’s length. They kiss, slow and lazy and Eames lifts Arthur’s opposite leg to bend at the knee, spreading him. He returns to massaging his arse and deepens his kiss, intently licking into Arthur’s mouth while he dips one finger in to the first knuckle. Arthur is loose and ready enough for this; his breath doesn’t even change at the intrusion. So Eames pushes in further to the second knuckle and now Arthur’s muscle tightens around him. Eames just leaves his finger there and carries on kissing, stilling his finger and bringing Arthur’s focus upward.

Eames breaks the kiss and looks at Arthur’s face.

“You’re so beautiful, Arthur. I could kiss you all day every day if you’d let me.” Arthur is looking a little breathless and staring at Eames’s lips.

“I’ve been lusting after your mouth since you moved in last year. I used to jerk off thinking of you blowing me,” Arthur replies. Eames closes the distance and kisses him again, wet and dirty, and slowly begins to pulse his finger in and out.

“Mmm. That feels good,” Arthur says as he tilts his hips up to better Eames’s access.

“Oh, you like that, love?” Eames gives his finger a wiggle and then resumes the pulsing. “Have you been fingering yourself thinking of me?” Arthur nods. “I bet you’ve done it in the shower, pushed your finger in. Have you tried more than one?”

Arthur shakes his head and Eames slips a second finger in, pushing slowly but insistently up to the first knuckle. Arthur’s so tight, a silken heat clamping down on his fingers. He looks intently at Arthur’s face and he stills again.

“Arthur, kiss me. You can have anything you want, you know. This mouth, these lips. They’re yours. Take them. Own them. They’re yours.” Arthur lets out an animal sound, not quite a moan and not quite a whimper and his expression breaks into something so open and honest and longing that Eames feels something tighten deep in his chest. His intention had been to distract, but what pours out of him surprises even himself.

Arthur’s kiss is intense and fervent, plundering his mouth and doing exactly as Eames said, owning the kiss. Eames pushes his fingers in further, scissoring lightly and stretching him by degrees. Arthur’s cock is hard and leaking on his own stomach.

He moves his mouth to kiss along Arthur’s jaw, wet sucking kisses that make Arthur gasp. He moves down further, marking a bruise just below his clavicle and down lower until he’s licking firmly at Arthur’s nipple. It pebbles under his tongue and Arthur arches into it. He dares to add a third finger, but doesn’t enter just yet; he just tests the muscle to see if he’s ready.

“A little sensitive today?” Eames murmurs and licks harder, worrying his nipple gently with his teeth. Arthur’s noises are delicious and make him _want_ , they make his cock ache and twitch. Arthur reaches his hand to Eame’s face and draws two fingers along his lower lip. Eames licks them and sucks them in, swirling his tongue and Arthur fucks his fingers into Eames’s mouth. Arthur’s own mouth is open and he’s staring with blatant lust at Eames’s lips wrapped around his fingers.

Eames pushes with his third finger then, making sure to lick up between Arthur’s fingers while he does so and he’s surprised when his finger just slips in; he had been expecting to have to push, was prepared to be gentle and insistent but it’s not necessary; Arthur’s completely relaxed. Eames’s head goes swimmy at the thought that Arthur just _does_ this, trusts him, opens to him in every way.

Eames pulls his head back, kissing the tips of Arthurs fingers lightly and moves downwards. He leaves his fingers still inside Arthur while he kisses and licks down his body. He brushes a light fluttering lick up the underside of Arthur’s erection and begins to move his fingers again by millimetres. He places an open mouthed, sucking kiss into Arthur’s already-tight testicles and Arthur pushes his hips up in response, groaning and dropping his knees wide. The flexing motion tightens his body around Eames’s fingers but when he settles again he’s that much looser, and Eames twists his hand palm-side up and pushes his fingers in as far as they’ll go, while at the same time wrapping his mouth completely around one testicle and suckling it, sloppy and wet.

He curls his fingers and caresses Arthur’s prostate and Arthur bucks up suddenly, a grunt turning into a groan. He rubs lightly, stroking and petting that bundle of nerves and letting Arthur’s mindless noises envelop him, making him dizzy. After another slow quivering lick up the full length of his cock, Eames removes his fingers gently and deftly rolls on a condom, slicking himself up with more lube and massaging some more into Arthur’s arse.

He climbs back up, propping himself up on his lube-sticky hand and touching Arthur all over with the other. He rubs his thumb firmly across Arthur’s nipple, firming it to a hard nub before reaching down and positioning himself against Arthur’s hole.

His cock head slips in easily, just slides into place like a natural conclusion. But he watches Arthur’s face, sees his breath hitch and he though he doesn’t look pained, his eyes are wide, suddenly very aware of the blunt intrusion.

“E-easy, love. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere,” he soothes and kisses him, focusing on the soft smacking sounds of their tongues entwining. He runs his broad hand down Arthur’s side, over his hip and back up, again and again.

“Are you okay?” He says, and _fuck_ he had promised himself he wouldn’t say that. He was not going to tell Arthur to relax and he was not going to ask if he was alright, because as Eames saw it, it’s his job to _watch_ and know for himself if Arthur was okay. It’s his job to lead Arthur to this point with his actions, his gentle care and attention.

But he’s apparently taken him far enough already because Arthur just gives a wobbly nod, too stimulated and too addled with arousal to form words any more. Eames eases his cock in, slowly, slowly, feeling Arthur’s body give way underneath him. He stops partway in and gives Arthur a chance to adjust. He hooks a hand up under his arm, gently gripping the back of his shoulder and buries his face in the boy’s neck, licking the thin sheen of sweat and fluttering his tongue in the soft indent below his ear.

“Arthur. Arthur, you’re so good, love. You’re doing so good. When you’re ready, wrap your legs around me, I want to feel you all around me.” Arthur’s body is slender but strong, his lean arms wrapped around Eames’s broad shoulders, one hand ruffling in Eames’s hair. He whimpers at the words and does as he’s asked, lifting his knees higher and enveloping Eames’s waist with a surprisingly strong grip.

Fully encircled now by Arthur’s legs, Eames wraps his arms right around him, lifting him slightly off the bed, cradling Arthur’s head in his hand and biting gently into his shoulder. Eames is keenly aware that his bulk looms over Arthur’s smaller frame, that he uses size and strength to possess and dominate, and Arthur yields easily underneath him. If he was a better man he would maybe feel guilty, but he enjoys the feeling too much to worry about it.

He pushes at last, a relentless slide deep up inside Arthur where he’s never been touched before, and doesn’t stop until he’s fully seated, bodies tight together. He pulls his head back enough to watch Arthur’s face, and he’s staring back at him, eyes heavy lidded, lips parted, rumpled and sweaty, tousled and gorgeously young. Eames is watching for the twitch of a frown, some sign that this is too much, but it doesn’t come. So he moves, a slow roll of his hips, pulling out just a little before burying himself deep again.

“ _Christ_ love, you’re incredible. I’m never going to let you leave my bed. This is mine now, Arthur. You’re mine; you belong under me like this.” And _shit_ , that was too far, too much. He has no right, but he just can’t help himself. Arthur gives himself and he’ll take because he’s only fucking human and for some reason he has no filters around this beautiful, intelligent, earnest and passionate boy. He wishes he could take it back, terrified that Arthur has seen this in him now, that Arthur will find this too intense and leave him.

But Arthur is saying, “Yes, god, yes. Yours, Eames. All of it,” before pushing their mouths together, licking sloppily in a wet mushy kiss as he grips Eames tighter with his arms and legs. And Eames is going to hell for sure, now that he has claimed this boy, has gambled and won and got what he wanted, but _fuck_ that’s bloody terrifying because really, what has he done? Arthur’s writhing inexpertly, trying to use his heels to pull Eames in deeper and clawing at his back. He’s climbing on and Eames is climbing in and they’re a mess of desperate, longing flesh together.

Eames picks up his pace, holding Arthur’s whole body and sucking bruises into his neck and shoulder, lengthening his thrusts so he’s almost pulling all the way out before sliding back in. Arthur’s so tight and Eames has been waiting so long by this point that he’s going to come soon. But he can’t, not before Arthur.

He pulls back, props himself up with is arms and adjusts his angle, hitting Arthur’s prostate with much less finesse than his fingers had, just driving against it and Arthur pushes his head back against the pillow, groaning loudly something that sounds like Eames’s name. He grasps Arthur’s cock which looks raw and is smearing his belly with pre-come, strokes it in time with his thrusts and just drinks in the look of him.

Arthur spreads his knees wider and thrusts up to meet him which makes his cheeks clench around Eames. With a brush of Eames’s thumb over the boy’s slit, Arthur comes, shooting long pearly strings and Eames isn’t even sure if it’s the boy’s resultant crushing squeeze around his cock that wrenches his own climax out of him because they both come on so fast. But they’re rocking together, shuddering through it and clinging to one another as if holding on during a storm at sea.

When the last of their shivers die away, Eames lowers Arthur down, gently extracting himself from his arms and falling down beside him, taking a second to dispose of the condom before pulling Arthur over to rest against his side. They breathe together for long minutes.

“Eames. Was that... that wasn’t normal, right? I mean. That was better than sex. Well, it was sex, but. Fuck. It was amazing.”

Eames smiles, unable to even feel smug, he just feels so good. “How are you down there? You might be a little tender for a day or so. I did my best not to hurt you.”

“Yeah, no. It’s fine. A little tender, yeah, but not sore exactly. It’s. Pleasant. I’ll feel it and I’ll know you’ve been in me. I like that.”

Arthur snuggles in close and Eames’s chest tightens again because he’s done it now. He’s falling and he’s pulling Arthur with him and he should have fucking known better. But all he wants to do is wrap Arthur up and keep him safe, and if he’s supposed to be keeping him safe from himself, well, he can’t. All he can do is hold on. So he pets and pets, smoothes down Arthur’s hair and strokes his sides.

\--End--  



End file.
